The place is empty perfect. Soft dark red velvet adorns the booths perfect. The lights are only bright enough to see the few maroon-carpeted steps directly in front of you perfect. There lies a woman stretched across the piano with a mic in her hand. You hear the rest of the band, but you can't see anything more than their shadowy black outlines against the dark brick wall behind them. Though she never leaves her post, she's speaking to you singing to you reaching out to you there is no one else in here the place belongs to you and to her perfect. Though you haven't felt this soothed, relaxed, for too long of a time, there's still something a bit askew. There's something about that voice that hair that tone so familiar but what is it?
A lone bright white spotlight clicks on no, it can't be no way!!! What kind of bad dream is this??? She walks towards you she sings of heartache, of no time for love, of being lost in a world of material survival, and hating every minute of it. No, it can't be. Please let this not be a dream this time. Let this be real. She stops at your table. She is standing right in front of you "I'm so sorry my boss made me work late "